


Millennium Burn

by rvst



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rvst/pseuds/rvst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was two months after the fire that killed most of her family when the words 'Navier-Stokes' appeared on the inside of her forearm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Millennium Burn

It was two months after the fire that killed most of her family when the words 'Navier-Stokes' appeared on the inside of her forearm.

Cora knew what it meant. In general, that is. She didn't have the faintest clue what a 'Navier-Stokes' was, nor did she have the means to check. The carefully drawn letters were drawn on her arm as if a child went to town with a magic marker. They letters were careful yet unevenly spaced and spidery. She winced.

She was sixteen, and her soul mate was a child.

Cora groaned and allowed her head to thump against the wall of the train car she was hitching a ride inside. Running away to South America suddenly seemed all the more appealing.

She didn't have the energy to deal with some kid who wasn't even a werewolf like her that she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.

Lydia Martin was eleven when her mother was woken by her screaming child.

Her left arm felt like it was being sawed off slowly. The burning pain ripped through it, so she wailed and the pain receded for a precious moment before it came rushing back.

She clawed at her arm, trying to get whatever the hell was happening to her to stop.

Her mother tried to restrain Lydia from doing harm to herself, but the panic was surging to hard inside Lydia and her little body. Her mother gave up and carried her down into the car instead, speeding out of the driveway towards the hospital.

Lydia spent the entire drive alternating between wailing louder than her mother had ever heard, and studying whatever it was causing the pain. Lydia refused to show or tell her mother what it was and she only relinquished her arm when they arrived in the emergency room.

The doctors almost immediately called social services, just as a precaution. Any child that presented with that extensive of an injury without a suitable explanation, the mother didn't even know what was wrong, was reported.

The doctor took pictures, drew a few sketches, and even sent the student he was supervising a note to research into spontaneous combustion.

Lydia thought she knew what the wound was, though her answer didn't make any sense. She was in bed when it started hurting. There wasn't any fire in her bed.

She traced her fingers over the five jagged burn marks. They didn't hurt to touch, and the doctor's assured her that they seemed to be healing almost inhumanly fast.

It was like an animal scratched burns into her arms. She promptly forgot about the incident almost as soon as she was removed from the hospital. Her mother bought her a fascinating book about the Millennium Problems and all remembrance of the incident slipped out of her young mind.

As the years went by, the burn didn't heal. Lydia convinced herself it was just a weird scar and moved on with her life.

Then Scott McCall started to act weird.

Lydia Martin ignored the rumours of childhood abuse. Probably started by her ex-boyfriend while they were broken up. They didn't concern her, and she eventually came to take comfort and strength from the burn marks on her arm.

No doctor had been able to explain them properly. The closest to a definitive answer she got was a really bad chemical reaction with her bedding. Lydia didn't believe that for a moment and when Scott McCall was a werewolf, and her best friend was a hunter, and she wailed her lungs out around death, things started to clear a bit.

If magic was real, then that was a perfectly rational solution, right?

She threw herself into research, mostly keeping to the Argent bestiary. Lydia cautioned herself against sharing her suspicions, even with her closest friends. Something about her burns, and the dull throbbing she learned to tune out quickly, they made her hesitant to tell anyone about the potentially magical nature of their origins.

It felt personal. Private.

Cora got word through an anonymous letter at the youth hostel she found herself staying at once per week. All it said was that her brother was in pain and she might be needed to save his life. It wasn't signed, nor marked. The letter didn't betray how the sender knew any of these things. Cora took it seriously, packing her meagre belongings and stealing the first car she came across to head for the boarder.

One week later, three cars and one night in jail for pickpocketing caught up with her and she was forced to spend the night in a motel just outside the limits of Beacon Hills. Home. The words on her arm itched. They crawled over her skin, driving her to distraction and causing no less than five minor road accidents on her long drive.

She scratched at them futilely, knowing that she could cut her arm off and the phantom of the limb would itch at her until she did something with its clue.

Cora had eventually looked up what the words meant. Not only was the person on the other end of the words a child compared to her, but they were also a math nerd. The itching got worse the closer she got to the burnt out husk that was once her home.

She drew in a deep breath and abandoned her latest stolen vehicle. Hauling her pack out of the trunk, she shouldered it and set off towards a local youth homeless shelter. Running the rest of the way cleared her mind of the violent memories surrounding Beacon Hills.

Her boots crunched pleasantly against the snow as she pounded through the streets. Cora didn't even know it was winter. She could see her breath in front of her face and could hear the faint sound of Christmas carols off in the direction of the main street of Beacon Hills. Cora winced in anticipation.

Her running took her through the three in the morning deserted shopping. She only stopped when the childish scrawl of words on her arm froze as if there was iced water flowing over it.

No, not water. Fear. Like she was being chased by Death.

Cora stopped. She centred herself, calming the fear somewhat and took deep breaths. Her arm shook and she couldn't stop it. The mounting fear spread up her arm and chilled her heart.

A scream pierced the silence.

Cora didn't hesitate. Her legs moved and she was running again.

Lydia tucked herself into bed after triple checking the locks on her door. She hid the key inside a locked box and prayed that she could get through one night without someone dying in her power's radius. Knowing her recent luck, there was bound to be some kind of supernatural creature that  
only attacked during Christmas. A demon Santa maybe.

Lydia groaned. Demon Santa was absolutely going to strike.

At least the usual gentle burning in her arm seemed to have given up for the night, making way for a pleasant warmth that pulsated along with her heart.

Something scratched insistently at the back of her mind, demanding to be felt. Some acknowledgement. Anything.

Tucking herself in, Lydia slowly drifted off to sleep.

Normally, and Lydia shuddered at the thought of her powers ever being considered normal, when she awoke to her own screaming voice it was an instantaneous smash from the cocoon of sleep to the harsh reality of death.

This time she was completely aware of her body moving without her consent. Panicking, she failed to notice that the supernatural power inside of her wasn't trying to escape and find something dead to wail over. All it did with her body was move slowly in a staggered gait towards her window and unlocked it.

The window was not a viable way out of the house anymore. Too many new trees. Allison nearly skewered herself attempting to climb out.

No, all the banshee did was unlock the window. It then returned Lydia to her bed, and let loose with the screaming.

Cora could smell death on the air.

Not a dead human, that got into her nose and stuck for weeks. A dead creature.

She turned a corner and suddenly found herself surrounded by a cluster of long driveways leading to overly large houses. If she couldn't hear Christmas carols in the distance, she'd suspect that some of the occupants of these houses were awake and on the lookout for homeless youths such as herself. The carols had to be drunk idiots. Cora resisted the urge to roll her eyes and quickly ducked behind a car to hide from a roaming security car.

It passed her by silently. She poked her head up for a scouting glance. Her eyes locked onto another figure moving in the darkness. The man was tall, and attempting to scale some trees. Cora didn't second-guess her instincts, charging the man immediately.

She caught up to him as he was lifting the window to a bedroom needlessly. The window had shattered from the force of the wailing Cora heard, the voice that was still running through her childishly scrawled words and continuing on to her heart which was ice cold despite her racing heartbeat.

Seeing no other alternative, Cora shouldered into his back and forced them both into the room. Collapsing in a scratching and biting heap on lush carpet as what Cora assumed to be a teenage girl gasped in surprise somewhere off on a bed.

Cora could smell the death leaking out of the man and used her claws to tear at his throat. She lifted him cleanly off the ground and threw him out the window into the waiting branches of the trees. He was impaled, and crumbled to dust within seconds.

The girl wasn't screaming anymore. Cora finally took her in. She nearly fell over with the force of emotion she felt, and startled at the freezing disappearing instantaneously. The girl stared at her, clutching at her arm. Cora smiled softly, thanking the stars that she wasn't supposed to be with some child.

This girl almost looked like she passed the age of consent in most states.

Small victories. Cora was a werewolf, but falling for an actual child was just creepy and offensive.

Lydia sat on the other side of the room. Her eyes darting, almost shaking, as they struggled to take in the woman all at once. The burning was gone, her arm didn't hurt. This is what gave her the strength to recover from whatever shock passed between them first.

“Vampire?” The woman seemed briefly offended, like Lydia accused her of unspeakable crimes. Lydia helped out by pointing at where the man who came flying through her window had disintegrated.

“Yeah,” she rushed out, not moving her gaze from Lydia. Lydia herself didn't feel much like looking away either. “What's wrong with your arm?”

The bold question didn't throw Lydia, she could make out her own childish hand-writing from across the room. “What's up with yours?”

Cora crossed the room, pleased that this girl was at least aware of the supernatural. “Same thing that's up with whatever you're hiding.”

At this, Lydia allowed herself to relax. She knew exactly what the burns meant. After narrowing down the possibilities, her conclusion was the only one that fit another person being involved with the marks.

“Soul mates is a silly concept for silly people who believe that the world is full of magic,” Lydia challenged, ecstatic that she finally had someone to vent her opinions to.

“I'm a werewolf and you're a banshee, the world is full of magic,” Cora answered smoothly, taking a seat on the side of the girl's bed. “You got a name, math nerd?”

Lydia blushed at someone else being aware of what she intended to be her mark on the world. “It's Lydia.”

Cora found the blush out of place. “Cora Hale.”

Lydia snapped what little attention wasn't already on Cora to full concentration. “You're a Hale? That explains the burns.”

Cora didn't know what to do with that. So she did what felt natural and reached out to grab her hand. She lifted Lydia's hand to trace gently over what seemed to be her own claw marks burned into the girl's flesh.

Cora's heart froze again at the though of how young Lydia must have been when the pain associated with the fire hit her.

Lydia tugged Cora back into the present and through the haze of whatever spiritual magic was working on them both she pulled the werewolf into her arms. Cora was caught off-guard and crashed into Lydia. They went tumbling down onto the bed proper and neither could restrain a slight giggle at the silliness of their situation.

Cora hovered above her. Lydia kissed her cheek tenderly. The burn on her arm faded away from its usual dull aching. It wasn't gone, just eased. As if to spite her, the burns throbbed anew with lancing pain. The pain must have shown on her face because Cora's eyebrows pulled together and her fearful whine returned. It took Lydia a second of unbearable pain to take notice Cora's discomfort.

“It's okay,” Lydia reassured while nuzzling Cora's neck.

“You're hurting,” Cora whispered back. Lydia froze. She recovered by pecking Cora's lips, which worked for a moment. Cora ran a hand through her hair, tugging lightly to get Lydia to look at her. “Where?”

Lydia blushed, her eyes flicked down to her marked arm involuntarily. Cora's cheeks darkened, and she averted her eyes in shame. Lydia stopped her with a firm grip on her jawline.

“I am as supernatural as you are, there's equal blame to throw around here,” Lydia tried to sooth. Cora's blush lessened slightly, but her hands remained clenched in the fabric of Lydia's bedding. “It has always burned, nothing new.”

“The stories passed down talk about sharing burdens,” Cora groaned out. She considered collapsing her weight on top of Lydia and decided against it when she thought about her annoyance prompting the quickest Earth-shattering kiss she'd ever felt. “I didn't think that meant past demons.”

“Is this a werewolf thing or a banshee thing?” Lydia asked, side-stepping the discussion of her arm altogether. The curiosity burned inside her and the bestiary wasn't as helpful as she would have liked. Cora grinned fondly, leaning down to snatch a kiss.

“It's a mechanism to prevent Romeo and Juliet situations between people like us,” she explained, keeping it as brief as possible. “Full acceptance in both communities is not required, but it brings great shame to a pack or whatever who turns their backs on those who are linked like this.”

Lydia considered it for long moments that had Cora holding her breath,

The girl didn't respond verbally, choosing instead to drag Cora back down, sealing their lips together.


End file.
